I take a small sip of my hot chocolate as I slowly and cautiously steal a glance at coffee shop boy. His face is buried in his book, his round glasses barely hanging onto his face. As usual, his eyebrows are bunched up together and he chews on his bottom lip. I always found it mesmerizing how engrossed he got into his books. I loved that about him. I, myself, am a huge bookworm, and I have never in my life seen anyone become so entranced by a book the way he does. I’ve spent various hours of the day dreaming of us having a cup of coffee together whilst we talk about our favorite books or authors. I’ve dreamt many times of resting my head on his lap while he read me one of his favorite novels. A girl can dream.

My quick five second glance turns into a five minute stare down. He averts his eyes from his book and looks straight ahead of him, towards my direction. I quickly look away and go back to reading my novel. I hide my reddened cheeks behind my favorite Jane Austen novel, hoping he didn’t notice me staring at him. I used to have more self-control but these days my heart seems to be indulging recklessly. I don’t know how much longer I can go on till I’m officially classified as pathetic or a stalker. A pathetic stalker. How much longer can I go on admiring, coffee shop boy?

The following week I decide not to go to the coffee shop. I decide to switch my routine and go study in a different coffee shop. One on the other side of town. It’s the only way I’ll get him out of my head. It’s the only way I’ll get over him. I have reached a new level of pathetic this time. My life is already pathetic as it is but now with this crush I’ve hit rock bottom. I cannot continue to have this immense crush on him. I cannot continue to invest myself on a one-sided love no matter how strikingly beautiful he is. I need to get over him even if I have to take three subways to get to the other side of town.

The reason I’m running away from my feelings towards coffee shop boy is because my feelings towards other people have never been corresponded back. I was never the girl to be crushed on I was always the one doing the crushing. The boys I’ve loved before have never given me a second look. They’ve never even given me a first look to begin with. I’m not conventionally pretty. I‘m kind of awkward to look at. I’m a plain Jane. There‘s nothing special about me. The only special thing about me is the small heart shaped mole underneath my right eye. That’s as special as I get. My lack of experience with love is one of the main reasons why I lose myself in the fictional novels I love to read. They’re an escape from my pathetic reality. The novels I read are the closest I’ll ever get to experience what being in love and being loved is like.